


make me your maria (i'm already on my knees)

by scrapbullet



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Not Beta Read, Public Nudity, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 06:36:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14038323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: Nudity is a gift, Miranda decides, upon removing the many layers that society demands, and she already feelsmuchbetter. Cooler still, as the sky begins to turn a pinkish hue and the insects chirp. The bench is quite comfortable with a cushion at the small of her back and beneath her bottom, and in the dying light she smiles faintly at the notion of some unlikely neighbour catching her unaware, sitting entirely naked on her porch like some goddess out of an ancient tale.





	make me your maria (i'm already on my knees)

New Providence is _hot_. Inland, and devoid the gentle breeze of the coast, the humidity is unbearable. England was never like _this_ , and Miranda is rather unused to it. 

Sweat collects under her breasts and between her thighs as she works, and as the day goes on her skin chafes and reddens, becoming sore and uncomfortable. For hours she toils, turning the soil and sowing seeds, the sun beating down on her body, relentless and unwavering. Drawing water from the well taxes muscles unused to manual labour, but she bears it; too prideful to give in, too aware that in such harsh weather it is ambrosia to her plants and livestock. 

Her shoulders ache, and her skin burns. Her fingers bear the evidence of blisters, recently healed, the tender flesh pink and sensitive. Once, Miranda’s body was a temple, and although it remains so, it is a body as fatigued as her heart.

When she has finished tending to her little patch of garden she settles on a bench in the shade of the porch with a mug of tepid water, skirts hitched up over her knees and thighs scandalously spread. Touching the sore inner thighs causes her to hiss, pained. 

Alas, there is no aloe remaining her store cupboard, and she’d rather not have to get up, now. _Just this once, let her be slothful._

It’s absolutely _hateful_ and, utterly uncaring of propriety and with nothing else to do she throws caution to the wind, tugging impatiently at her corset.

Nudity is a gift, Miranda decides, upon removing the many layers that society demands, and she already feels _much_ better. Cooler still, as the sky begins to turn a pinkish hue and the insects chirp. The bench is quite comfortable with a cushion at the small of her back and beneath her bottom, and in the dying light she smiles faintly at the notion of some unlikely neighbour catching her unaware, sitting entirely naked on her porch like some goddess out of an ancient tale.

It is the sight that greets James when he comes home an hour later - so lost in thought that he doesn’t even notice his loves state of undress until he is but a few feet away - and one that leaves him quite breathless. “Good evening, my sweet.”

Miranda, with eyes heavy lidded, lifts the cup to her lips. The arch of her neck as she tilts her head back is sensuality in motion, and she knows it all too well. A bead of water trickles down cracked clay to hang, precarious, for but a moment before it drops, landing on a pert breast. 

James stares, mesmerised, swallowing thickly. 

Miranda grins cheekily. “Darling, be a dear and put your tongue back in your mouth.”

With a sigh, and much refreshed after her rest, Miranda stands, stretching skyward to relieve the remaining kinks in her back. Closing the short distance between them she loops her arms around his shoulders, and greets him with a kiss. 

“I hope you weren’t waiting for long?” James murmurs, his warm, clever hands cupping and squeezing her bottom.

“Mm, a while. Why, are you terribly scandalised?”

James slowly backs her into the house, smiling foxily. His hands wander, as they often do, drawn to cup her hips and then up, higher still to brush his thumbs over her nipples. “You have to admit, if anyone saw you like this they’d be liable to go blind.”

Miranda hums, and pushes her breasts forward invitingly. “And what, exactly, are you insinuating? Perhaps I’m some kind of terrible beast, hm? A sister of Medusa, perhaps?”

His laugh hits her deep in her belly, pooling liquid heat. 

“Not at all,” James murmurs, nuzzling at her neck and breathing her in, amorous. “You are a goddess; allow me to treat you like one.”

Such a show of strength as he lowers her to the chaise, his lips pressing firm, wet kisses down her throat. His hands make quick work of his clothes - tossed haphazardly onto the floor, coat and shirt and breeches all, having toed his boots off at the door - and he shoulders his way between her thighs, pausing for the barest moment to brush his lips gently over her sore, chafed skin. “This looks painful. Aloe?”

“None left,” Miranda replies, and gasps as he parts her lower lips, licking with the flat of his tongue where she is sopping from his ardent welcome. Mouthing at her clit James holds her hips down as she mewls, his strength unwavering when he sucks and plays her cunt like an instrument. 

James knows her body all too well. Knows when to push, and when to back away - to lick the taste of her from his lips and slide two fingers inside, crooking them just right. Knows _precisely_ how to make her writhe and moan, when she is tugging at his hair to pull his mouth to her, wordlessly begging for release.

“Will you come for me, my sweet?” James asks playfully, delighted, before rubbing his thumb _just so_.

The ache builds in her cunt, and her body tightens. “James, fuck, _don’t stop_ ,” Miranda gasps, breathless, as her hips shudder in his grip and she climaxes, lost in the pleasure of his mouth. 

After, James crawls up to lay beside her, the chaise creaking dangerously. “You were beautiful,” he purrs, and Miranda kisses the taste of herself from his lips. “My Aphrodite.”

His weight is a comfort, and although her body hurts it is a _good_ hurt. It surprises her, still, how much his presence eases her.

“You’re an insufferable romantic,” Miranda accuses, and so wraps her fingers around his hard cock. “ _Oh happy dagger, this is thy sheath._ ”

Buying his face in the crook of her shoulder James chokes on a laugh. “ _You’re terrible_. I truly don’t know why I love you, you’re awful.”

Biting at the lobe of his ear Miranda strokes up, deft and practised. “But love me, you do, darling. And I, you.”

And so they make love into the night.

(Unfortunately, the chaise rather protests.)

**Author's Note:**

> This is all Mac's fault, for writing such lovely Flint/Miranda ficlets, and I just HAD to write terrible, awful porn for it. Sorry not sorry. :3


End file.
